Yankee Doodle Rodent
by EnchantedApril
Summary: Another in the Rat!Fic series which started with The Sitter. This time it's postfinale, House has pushed Cameron away, and we'll have to see if sparklers and Steve can help the situation. FINAL CHAPTER UP July23
1. Chapter 1

WELL, it's been quite a while since my last post here, and for that I apologize. Things have been hectic around here, and my mind has not been in the right place for writing. Which is not to say that good things haven't been happening for me... I'm now engaged to a wonderful man! Of course all of this has very little to do with the fic! It's another in the Rat!Fic series that started with The Sitter, and it takes place post-finale. Hopefully everyone will enjoy the return of Steve McQueen.

**Yankee Doodle Rodent**

Chapter 1

It was too quiet in the diagnostics department, and it had been too quiet for almost three weeks. Those were the weeks since House had been shot, discharged and confined to bed-rest at his townhouse. Cameron made the coffee by rote, and was sitting at her desk giving polite declines to people who had emailed, requesting the services of Dr. Gregory House. Chase was sitting at the conference room table with his feet propped up on another chair, and the end of his pen clamped between his teeth. Apparently the New York Times' crossword was particularly difficult. Foreman had been in the office briefly, but now he was down at the clinic putting in his hours there. With minor variations in who was working the clinic, every day since House's shooting had played out much the same way.

Cameron flipped open her cell phone. No messages. She knew that he was fine, but a call from him would have been nice. It was strange being in the hospital and not being barraged by his voice echoing through the department.

She missed him.

Most people would have thought that obvious, and would have assumed that she'd have no trouble admitting it, but she'd been attempting to show that his absence didn't affect her. She didn't want what had previously been put down as a school-girlish crush to appear as something more. She wasn't ready for that and neither was House. When it came right down to it, she wasn't sure what she _was_ ready for.

Chase rustled his paper and Cameron glanced over at him as he jerked his head to get a wayward thatch of hair out of his eyes. Their conversations seemed to come easier these days, but there was still that slight strain beneath the surface that would probably never go away.

"Turning away any interesting patients?" he asked, just to make conversation.

"Forty-two year old man with respiratory issues and intermittent cataplexy and a twenty year old woman with a suspicious rash and decreased vision. I sent him to Yule at Jefferson and her to Jennings at New York General."

There was a slight nod of a blond head and then he went back to his crossword. Cameron let out the little breath she always seemed to hold onto when they were talking and turned her attention back to the computer. She was glad he hadn't asked about House. Cuddy and Wilson gave them all updates every day or so, but sometimes she thought that Chase and Foreman looked at her pointedly during those updates. The looks implied that they thought she could have been the one giving the updates.

Her fingers felt heavy and stiff as she typed another email response and then opened up an article she was working on for the New England Journal of Medicine. She was relatively sure that Foreman wouldn't be submitting anything similar. That was one thing that had resolved itself nicely in the past month. They weren't as close as they had been, but things were better between them, and she thought they would eventually regain those last bits of comfortable camaraderie. Chase stood up and announced that he was going down to the clinic, and Cameron nodded and watched him leave. When he was out of sight, she pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed. She still had her eyes closed and her hand massaging her forehead when a concerned question was directed at her from the door.

"Headache?"

She opened her eyes and let a weak smile be her greeting to Wilson who was propped casually against the department doorway.

"Because you know, there's probably something in this building that could help with that."

Her smile deepened slightly. "It's not that bad. Just stress."

"And here I'd assume that having House gone would _alleviate_ the stress," Wilson quipped.

A quick smirk followed a raised eyebrow and Wilson let a breath of laughter escape. He was the only one who really knew how far the relationship between Cameron and House had gone, and now that things between them were back to being tense, he was the only one who tried to break the ice about the situation.

That Valentine's day kiss so many months before, had been the start of a series of tentative steps forward. There had been more dinners together, with and without Steve McQueen, more hesitant touches, and more breath-stealing kisses. There had also been giant steps backwards.

House's attitude when Foreman published an article on the same case Cameron had submitted to him months earlier, was the cause of one of those steps. She had distanced herself from everyone as a form of self-preservation. That might have been the end of their twisted little romance if Foreman hadn't gotten sick. The balance of power had shifted during that time, with House actually needing things from Cameron, and Cameron holding her own. She had barely reacted to the fact that she too, might be infected, but for House, it had been a driving force behind his desperate attempt to find the source of the illness. He had never expected to be that afraid of a disease, but seeing Foreman's condition deteriorate and imagining Cameron in his place, had made his gut tighten and his mind race.

Foreman hadn't been the only one to apologize to her after that case.

Things had actually improved a lot in the days and weeks that followed. The final forbidden step into the bedroom was taken, and somewhat awkward jolts and maneuverings had ended in a contentment and satisfaction. Weekends together became routine, even with House's irascible attitude, and comments about them getting too mushy. His words didn't cut the same way anymore. Something about his hand trailing up her naked spine made them more a habit and less an edict.

Then House had been shot.

Cameron had spent two days beside his bed. With strength no one would have imagined, she had held her emotions in check. She never cried. She never whispered sweet things in his ear. She never acted any differently than everyone expected her to act. At least not when anyone else could see. There were a few bursts of tears, while sequestered in the ladies' room in the ICU ward, and there were a few phantom brushes of lips against cheek and forehead and hair, in those deep hours of the night when even the nurses moved slower and saw less.

She had expected his sarcasm upon waking, and his refusal to acknowledge that there was anything between them. They were in the hospital, after all, the one place they had absolutely agreed to keep separate from their relationship. His attitude had actually made her grin. After watching him so still and silent for so long, it was a relief to see him back to his bitingly acidic self. She hadn't expected that attitude to cling to him once he was released. He'd claimed he needed some distance, and that Wilson would make a fine nursemaid. Wilson, who'd known about them since the beginning, had only been able to shrug. He and Cameron had thought it was just a phase House was going through.

That had been two weeks ago, and Cameron hadn't seen him since. She'd tried to call, and House had made Wilson talk to her or hadn't picked up the phone at all. She missed having him in the hospital, but she missed having him outside the hospital even more. Another half-smile tugged up the corner of her mouth as she put on a good face for Wilson.

"You talk to him since this morning?" she asked.

Wilson sighed. He hated seeing how hard she was trying to keep things light and normal. "Yeah, I called at noon. He's fine. You should visit."

She shook her head. "He won't even talk to me on the phone, and you think face to face would be better?"

"Sometimes face to face is the only way. You have to force him into not being an ass."

A small, humorless laugh was her response.

"He thought the ketamine was going to work better," Wilson said, the explanation he'd given half a dozen times before. "He's just having a hard time dealing with the fact that it didn't."

"But it worked some," Cameron argued. "You said he's been taking fewer pills. He should be happy to be suffering less, not holing himself away. He should want me there." It was said in a quietly sad tone of voice, but to her ears it still seemed petulant, and she hated herself for her perceived selfishness.

Wilson walked into the room and sat down on the chair nearest to Cameron's desk. He was staring at her with those caring eyes that had seen countless patients through bad news, radiation, chemotherapy and the end-stages of life. They seemed to burn her now, and she turned away.

"You know House," he said simply. "When he really wants something, that's when he pretends it doesn't matter at all. Because then he can pretend it doesn't bother him when he doesn't get it."

"But he's already got me," she replied, voice flat, eyes tired. "Or at least he used to."

"Yeah, well I guess he's thinking that now he's guaranteed to be a miserable cripple for the rest of his life, it means he should cut his losses early. Faith in other people isn't his strong suit, in case you missed that memo."

"No, I got that. I just thought…"

"That your pure love would make him forget all his past relationship failures and accept that you're not going anywhere?" Wilson completed her thought with a bit more sarcasm than she would have given it.

She looked at him and quirked up one eyebrow. "Something like that, I suppose."

"Go visit him," he repeated his earlier suggestion as he rose from his chair. "You've got tomorrow off, it's the Fourth of July, and I happen to know that Steve McQueen just loves fireworks."

Cameron's smile was sincere this time, as she thought of all the times that rat had been the bridge in the relationship between her and House. The fact that Wilson knew it too, made it even more amusing.

"I think the store on the corner of my street sells sparklers," she said, feeling slightly more optimistic.

"That's a start."


	2. Chapter 2

Thank you all for your reviews! I'm very glad to see Steve welcomed back with open arms.

**Chapter 2**

The fourth of July arrived with the start of a heat wave which settled around Princeton by noontime. The air felt thick and heavy, but that didn't stop people from running around, letting out enthusiastic shouts, and shooting off illegal bottle-rockets in their back yards. The smell of burning charcoal from classic kettle barbeques, mixed with the powder from the fireworks, and turned into a scent that was unique to Independence Day.

Cameron, in a light sundress and strappy sandals, breathed deeply of that scent as she walked from her car to the steps that led to House's front door. She had plastic bags looped over each arm, and they rustled as she climbed the steps and reached for the doorbell. She waited a moment, and would have knocked, but she didn't get the chance.

The door was yanked open, as if House had been expecting someone, but then he just stared at her and didn't move. Obviously she wasn't the someone he'd been expecting. His eyebrows scrunched together and his mouth twisted to one side.

"What are you doing here?" he asked.

Cameron tried not to feel hurt by the question or his tone of voice.

"I thought I'd stop by for a visit. I figured if I waited for you to invite me, I'd be waiting forever."

He huffed out a breath, evidence that she was probably correct in her assumption.

"What's in the bags?"

"Food," she replied. "You can find out the specifics when you let me in."

His reluctance was obvious, but he stepped back and held the door open for her. Cameron noticed that he wasn't using his cane, but he was leaning on the doorknob, and she glanced around the room to give him a chance to move to his next prop without displaying his still-prominent limp.

"I see you fired the housekeeper," she joked, but her voice was flat rather than light and good-humored.

There were magazines and newspapers scattered around, used glasses on the coffee table, a dirty dish on one of the end tables, and a pizza box spread open on the closed lid of the grand piano. House had never been neat, but this was messy even for him, and Cameron's mouth turned down at the corners. She felt upset at herself for not coming earlier, mad at him for shutting her out, and sad about the whole situation.

"So, are you gonna tell me what's in the bags now?"

She was drawn from her introspection by House's impatient tone, and she held out the bags to him. He eagerly snatched them away and started cataloging the contents.

"Hamburger, hotdogs, rolls, tomato, onion, lettuce, sparklers." He paused in his recitation and looked up with interest in his formerly dull eyes. "Sparklers?"

Cameron pinned him with her gaze. "Those are for Steve," she replied. "After all, it's his first Fourth of July."

House nodded. "Leave it to you to think of everything."

"Not everything," she said, and he looked at her questioningly, but she wasn't prepared to continue.

"Well, thanks for the food, but Wilson's coming over, so…"

"Don't worry. I'll leave when he gets here," she said, thinking that Wilson would probably be a no-show since he was the one who had convinced her to visit.

House shrugged as if he didn't care, and handed the bags back to Cameron.

"You can put the stuff away," he said, motioning towards the kitchen, and she knew it was because he didn't want to walk that far.

When she returned, he was sitting on the sofa, with his legs stretched along the length of it. It was another not-very-subtle hint, and it pushed Cameron just that slight bit over the edge. She stood beside the sofa with one hand on her hip, staring down at him, daring him to fight her.

"So this is it? You're not even going to talk to me?"

"Isn't that what we've been doing? I could have sworn I heard words coming from both of our mouths, just a minute ago."

Cameron opened her mouth to shout at him, but snapped it closed and just stared at him. She didn't want to turn this into a screaming match. That wasn't why she'd come here. With a deep sigh, she let her hand fall to her side, and walked away from the sofa. Steve's cage was still in its spot beside the piano, and she went to it and dropped the bag which held the sparklers and a few other holiday items. Five minutes later and Steve's cage had red, white and blue crepe paper wrapped around the base, and a small flag tied to one corner.

"Very patriotic," House said from his vantage point across the room.

Steve sniffed at the flag pole with interest and then sniffed at Cameron's fingers when she stuck them through the bars.

"Have you missed me?" she asked as she opened the cage.

"Probably," came the voice behind her, and it wasn't as snide as she'd expected. "You always spoil him."

She heard more softness than snark and wondered if the words applied as much to Steve's owner as to Steve himself.

"I've missed you too," she said, squinting her eyes as she held Steve up to her face and let his whiskers tickle her nose and cheeks. Her remark definitely applied to both man and rat.

"Steve's a real ladies man… has you wrapped around his bald little tail."

"He's a little scruffy, but cute, and an excellent listener."

"Yeah, but I don't hear him telling you his deep, dark secrets."

"Like father, like son," Cameron replied, repeating a line she'd used once before.

House had no reply, and Cameron positioned Steve on her shoulder and walked back towards the sofa. She pushed away some magazines and sat down on the coffee table while gathering herself together for the fight she fully expected. He'd picked up a newspaper and was holding it in front of his face, but she waited until he gave up and looked at her. His eyes held a warning, but deeper still, she could see fear. It wasn't something she'd seen there before. She blinked a few times, but kept her gaze steady.

"I've missed you," she told him.

It wasn't what he was expecting, and it threw him off-balance. There were only two acceptable replies. Either he admitted that he'd missed her too, or he lied and said that he hadn't. He went with an unacceptable reply and said nothing.

Cameron took a breath and her lips tightened into a grim line with tiny creases at the corners of her mouth.

"I thought we had a good thing going between us. Was that just an act on your part?" She wouldn't believe him even if he said that it was.

"No."

His honesty was a relief.

"Then what happened?"

"I'm pretty sure you were there."

"You were shot. Yes, I was there. I was there every minute. Every hour. I was there, and I kept up our cover, in between praying to a God I don't even believe in, and I never left. But you did. You shut me out and closed me off, and made me feel like the world's biggest fool for believing your apologies and letting myself be hurt by you, and still loving you anyway because I just don't know how to stop."

Cameron's words had come out in a rush and they surprised both of them. She paused and took a breath, slim shoulders twitching beneath the straps of her dress, nervous fingers pushing loose strands of hair behind her ear and steadying Steve

"So that's what I remember. What about you?" she asked, and the look in her eyes as they stared at him, said that she wasn't going to accept anything but the truth.

"You don't give up easy."

"No. I don't," she said.

"I'm still a fucking cripple," he spat out, abruptly.

Cameron was unsettled by his vehemence, but she didn't show it.

"How is that different from before the shooting? You say you're still a cripple. So what? When did that ever bother me? When did I ever say I expected that to change?"

"I had one shot at a reprieve and it didn't work," House said, sounding tired.

"It must have worked a little. You didn't use your cane to answer the door. Wilson says you're not taking as many pills."

"Right. I can go ten whole steps now, instead of five."

"You still haven't told me why that matters. It doesn't matter to me."

His eyes snapped alive and bored through her. "It matters to me."

"You'd throw away a chance at some kind of happiness because of your damn leg?"

He scoffed at her. "I did it once already. What's one more time?"

"No," she said, and he could practically hear her jaw clenching. "You are not doing this. I'm a part of this relationship too… however fucked up it may be… and I'm not letting you get out of it that easily."

The sneer he threw at her was weaker than usual, as if he only half meant it. "Well, what do you intend to do about it?" he asked, and Cameron thought that he sounded like he really wanted an answer. Wanted her to try. Wanted to know where the hell they went from there.

"First, I am going to put Steve back in his cage," she answered. "Then, you are going to get up and start up the grill, and don't tell me you don't have one, because I saw it on the corner of the deck. Then, we are going to have hamburgers and hotdogs and light sparklers."

"What happens after that?" House asked, sounding snarky, but slightly more playful than bitter.

"We'll figure it out when we get to it, but it probably involves taking your bike down to the river for the fireworks display."

"And what if I told you to get the hell out?"

"You'd have to throw me out," she replied stubbornly, "because this time, I'm not giving up that easy."

She wasn't sure what effect, if any, that her intractable stance would have on the equally obstinate House, but she'd held her ground, and she was proud of herself. Her legs weren't even shaking, like they had back in the beginning of her fellowship whenever she'd stood up for herself. She walked the length of the sofa and turned towards Steve's cage, but a strong hand, looped around her wrist, stopped her progress. It was gone almost as soon as it grabbed her.

"Steve's still too young for fireworks," House said, and his expression had softened into one she recognized again. "Unless you brought teeny tiny earplugs for him."

"No," she replied. "The fireworks will have to be 'grown-up time'."

"I think we can live with that."

"Good. Now go start the grill," she said, and was surprised when he actually grabbed his cane from beneath the sofa and lurched to his feet.


	3. Chapter 3

Here it is, the final chapter of this little story. My apologies that it's taken so long to get it finished! I hope that you all enjoy it, and as always, I appreciate hearing from you about what you liked and disliked.

**Chapter 3**

It took another fifteen minutes for the coals to get hot enough, and during that time, Cameron prepared everything and had it ready to go as soon as House shouted through the open window.

"You bellowed?" she replied, while pushing the door open with her hip.

Her hands held one plate with neatly formed hamburgers and three hotdogs, and one with pre-split rolls. House smirked at her and reached out for the meat-filled plate.

"So I guess you weren't goofing off in there," he commented.

"No," she answered back with a matching sarcastic tone in her voice.

Neither of them thought it odd that after such a tense conversation, and weeks apart, they were back to gently sniping at one another and exchanging playful looks. Cameron had sometimes referred to their relationship as dysfunctional, but at its heart, it was apparently also exceedingly comfortable.

Cameron hoisted herself up to sit on the porch railing, with her feet swinging lightly, ankles crossed.

"If you fall off and crack your skull open, I'm not rescuing you," House deadpanned. "I'm off-duty."

"I'll keep that in mind. Would you at least call 911?"

"I could probably do that."

Her light laugh floated in the warm air and House's mouth quirked up at the corners.

"Glad I came over?" Her words were risky, and she knew it, but her expression was neutral as she concentrated on House's strong fingers and bare arms.

House deftly turned nudged one of the hotdogs nearer to the coals and breathed in the pleasant scent which was wafting from the barbeque. He might have been pretending deafness, but was actually thinking about his response. He was glad that she had come, but the question made him flash back to their first angst-ridden date, uncomfortable tie, tasteful corsage and all. They were definitely the same people, but they had moved past a lot of their self-imposed roadblocks. Being truthful about feelings was one that House hadn't quite conquered.

"You brought food. That's always welcome," he said as he flipped one of the burgers.

Cameron nodded. It was about what she had expected him to say. She hopped off the railing and moved towards the door, but House stopped her with a gruff question.

"Where d'you think you're going?"

From the look on his face, it seemed like he thought she was going to leave completely, and from the tone in his voice, it was something he didn't her to do. As always, he gave more away with a lifted eyebrow than he ever did with words.

Her voice was soft and a tender smile brushed across her lips. "Just inside to get the lettuce and tomato ready," she told him.

House made an approving sound in his throat and his mouth twitched into an expression of studied indifference.

"Ah. Right. Yeah. Do that. These will be done in a few minutes."

He saw her smile widen and was a little irritated with himself for misreading the situation, but he couldn't deny the slight feeling of relief that passed through him.

Half an hour later and the two of them were eating and chatting in the living room while watching a baseball game on television. Steve had been released from his cage and was scurrying along the back of the sofa, silently begging for bits of potato chips and morsels of bread. He was much more likely to get them from Cameron, but House gave up a surprisingly large amount as well, for a man who claimed that the rat was going to get fat from all the scraps.

It was still early when they finished, just two o'clock, and they relaxed while the sports announcers spoon-fed them the play-by-plays and a steady breeze rustled the curtains and spun around them. The game was in the sixth inning when House suddenly flipped off the television and turned towards Cameron. She was looking at him with her eyebrows furrowed together in question.

"Bored," he told her. "We both know who's going to win."

"Well, probably."

"I can think of a better way to spend the afternoon."

His playfully lecherous gaze left nothing to the imagination.

"Do you really…"

He lowered his voice and interrupted her. "Don't finish that sentence. I think I know what I'm ready for."

He then put his words into actions as he grabbed her around the shoulders, tugged her closer and kissed her. It wasn't rough or demanding, but it was very thorough and when he pulled back, Cameron wished that he hadn't.

"Bedroom?" she asked, any and all doubts erased.

With his cane, he pushed himself to his feet, but then he dropped it to the floor and pulled Cameron up. He faltered slightly when her slim form made contact with his, and her hand pressed against his waist steadied him without being obvious. Their eyes met for an intense moment before he bent his head and crushed his lips to hers again. When the kiss ended, they somehow made it to the bedroom without falling over.

For close to an hour, House had wanted to push the thin strap of Cameron's sundress down off her shoulder, and he finally got his chance. They stood facing each other in the middle of the bedroom, breath heavy from kissing, and eyes fixed on one another and his hands were already resting on her waist, so it was a small adjustment to move one to her slender shoulder and delicately brush the strap away with the rough pad of his thumb.

Cameron's eyelids fluttered and she placed her hands on his chest, short fingernails tracing the pattern on his t-shirt. She stepped closer until her chest was flush against his, and tilted her head upwards. Her hot, humid breath tickled his ear.

"I'm glad I came over," she whispered, unafraid to voice those words even if he couldn't.

He wrapped his arms around her back and hugged her tightly, one hand going up to tangle in her hair before directing her mouth back to his. He felt for the zipper at the back of her dress with his other hand, and slowly pulled it down, warm fingertips tracing over every inch of newly exposed skin. He had forgotten how soft her skin was. He had forgotten how warm it was and how sweet she smelled.

They didn't fall into bed; it was more of a carefully choreographed routine, with Cameron easing House's shirt over his head, and then House sitting on the bed to remove his pants while Cameron nudged the other strap off her shoulder and let her dress fall to the floor in a soft rustle of cotton. She then crawled onto the bed with him, and she would have spent an hour just remapping his body and teasing him, but he would have none of it. His denial had been self-imposed but that didn't make it any less real, and he didn't want to wait to have her bare breast cupped in his hand, or his fingers exploring even more sensitive spots.

With practiced ease, he released the clasp of her bra and wasted no time reclaiming old territory. She giggled when he tickled her stomach, and then raised her hips so that he could remove the last of her clothes. He was quick to strip off the rest of his own before easing himself between her legs. He supported himself mainly on well-muscled arms, but the decreased pain in his leg was noticeable, and he was grateful for it, even if it wasn't complete.

Cameron could feel the difference in how House was holding himself, and she smiled up at him and wrapped her arms around his neck, happy for him.

"Waiting for something?" she asked, cheekily.

House shook his head. "No," he replied, and it was the last intelligible word either of them spoke for quite some time.

Afterwards, sleep drifted over them, while the sun still shone on through the windows, and their bodies lay barely separated, hands loosely intertwined. It was hours before Cameron blinked into the evening light and took stock of what time it was and where she was. She turned to House and he had his eyes open, blue depths reflecting more tenderness than she could ever remember seeing there.

"Ready for fireworks?" she asked, tugging the sheet around her chest.

"I think we already had some," he quipped, and tugged the sheet back down.

"I'd almost forgotten how funny you are," she said, with a sarcastic grin on her face.

"That's why you love me," he said, without even realizing the words he'd used.

Cameron heard them though, and without missing a beat, she replied, "Partly."

House recognized, then, that they had drifted into serious territory, and he had two choices. Retreat or advance.

"I'm glad you came over," he told her.

It was more of an admission than she'd expected.

"Fireworks?" she said after a brief moment where she memorized the surprisingly caring look on his face.

"Right," he said, snapping back to himself. "Hurry up and we'll take the bike."

There was a brief rush of movement, with clothing being thrown back and forth, and a few curse words from House as his leg throbbed in pain and reminded him that still wasn't whole. Cameron called to him at that moment and tossed his pill bottle to him from the opposite side of the bed. He looked at her just for a second before popping off the cap and swallowing one down.

It wasn't long before they were seated on House's motorcycle, and speeding along the otherwise quiet streets of Princeton. It was still very hot out, but the wind rushing by cooled them despite the fact that Cameron was nestled snug against House's back. She'd forgotten how much she enjoyed that.

Traffic got worse as they approached the town fields where the fireworks were going to be set off, and the motorcycle gave them a definite advantage. They dodged in and out, between cars and pedestrians, and found a spot not far from the field. House had his cane snapped to the side of the bike. He hadn't really been out in public since his surgery. That fact hadn't occurred to him when he'd agreed to go to the fireworks display. In the hospital, he'd had drugged-up dreams of walking unassisted and waking up to find himself still disabled had brought a sense of humiliation that he hadn't had before. He'd been crippled due to someone else's decision, but he was still crippled despite his own. There was a difference. Now, standing beside his bike, with Cameron right next to him, any sense of shame or indignity was gone.

They made their way through the crowd, with House subtly poking and prodding people with his cane. There were at least a couple of advantages to having the thing, mainly that it inspired people to get out of his way. They had just arrived at what Cameron declared the 'perfect spot', when the first test rocket shot into the air with a burst of color. Cameron sat down on the soft grass and House eased himself down next to her, and a minute later, the display began in earnest.

Cameron couldn't remember the last time she'd made an effort to see a Fourth of July fireworks display. She thought it had probably been back in college. She looked over at House as a silver, sparkling chrysanthemum rocket bathed the area in a pale light. He was grinning like a twelve-year-old and seeing that made her grin as well. The sulfur from the gunpowder, the heated air, the colorful lights, and the feel of the grass beneath her palms, merged to make a beautiful summer memory in her mind. The presence of House beside her, made it perfect.

The show was half-way over, and a fantastic display of red, blue and silver rockets was just drifting away, when House leaned over to Cameron. His scruff brushed along her jaw line as his lips moved to her ear.

"Next year, I think Steve will be old enough to come," he told her.

She smiled and moved her hand until it was just brushing his on the grass.

"Definitely."


End file.
